The Accident
by the-kings-tail-fin
Summary: Young Cal is excited for his parents to come back from vacation, even though he's having the time of his life at his aunt and uncle's house. However, the icy roads have other ideas.
1. Crash

It was early December, time for Cal's parents to vacation down south. Since Cal had had quite possibly the greatest holiday season of his life last year, they decided to vacation early this year so they could be back in time to celebrate together as a family.

They were due back in town that day. Cal was excited, running around all hyper and talking nonstop. As much as he enjoyed staying with his aunt and uncle, he loved his parents more than anything. He couldn't wait to tell them all about the fun things he'd done in the last week.

Strip looked out the window at the dreary sky. It had been spitting ice pellets all morning. He expected to get a call at any moment from his brother asking if they could keep Cal one more day so the roads would have time to clear.

"Cal, I'm gonna put you in time out if you don't calm down." Lynda threatened him. "You gotta stop running around like this."

Strip turned around to see Cal darting back and forth between the kitchen and the living area. He was purposely trying to avoid being caught by Lynda, who just couldn't keep up with him.

"I'm gonna siphon your gas, and then you'll be stuck, buddy." Strip assisted his wife, moving forward to cut Cal off from rocketing towards the front door.

"Nooo!" Cal yelled, turning abruptly to avoid running into Strip's side. He turned too hard on the carpet and managed to flip up on his side. He tried to push himself back over with his tires laying against the floor, but was unable to.

"I say we leave him like that." Lynda said, herself unsure if she was joking or not. She'd done nothing but chase him around all day, and it was exhausting.

Strip smiled as Cal grunted and flailed around, refusing to admit defeat. The kid finally sighed and said, "I'm stuck."

Just then, Strip heard the popping of gravel under tires and went to look out the window again, expecting his brother and sister-in-law to be coming up the drive.

"Is that them?" Lynda asked from across the room.

Strip saw flashes of black and white. Neither his brother nor his brother's wife had black or white paint.

"No." Strip said, watching the figure through the tree line at the far end of the yard. "It's someone else."

The car finally emerged into the open. It was a cop. Strip felt uneasy. The police had no reason to come this far out of the way for no reason. He turned from looking out the window, gently pushed Cal back on his wheels, and looked at Lynda.

"Can you keep him occupied in here while I go see what this is about?" he asked her.

She looked a little confused at the request, but nodded. Cal, suddenly better behaved, followed her into the living room and settled for playing a game of tic-tac-toe. He liked to play with her because she always let him win.

The officer pulled onto the porch and knocked on the door. Strip immediately opened it and greeted him.

"Afternoon, officer. Something I can do for you?" he asked.

The officer shook himself. "No, not at all. Mr. Weathers, my name's Officer Grilles. I regret to say this, but I'm here to inform you about an accident that happened this morning."

Strip felt the dread creep through him, as cold as the hardened rain outside. The officer paused and took a breath. Relaying news like this was never easy, no matter how much experience he had.

"At about ten o'oclock this morning, the mountain passage iced over. The county did not have time to issue a travel warning before the accident reports came in. We went and investigated the accident to find that an oil tanker took a turn too fast in the ice, lost control, and flipped over into the opposing lane. Maurice and Sadie Weathers were making their way up the mountain in the opposing lane when it happened. I'm - I'm sorry to report that Maurice was declared dead on site. Sadie was rushed to the nearest hospital, but passed soon after she was admitted."

Strip couldn't believe what he was hearing. Gone? Was his little brother really gone? Sadie too? He stared off into the middle distance in a dissociated state. The officer looked genuinely distraught, but after a moment of hesitation, continued.

"Before she passed, Sadie did manage to say something that she wanted passed on to you. 'Make sure they take good care of Cal.' That's their son, I presume?"

Strip backed up a little and looked into the living room, where Cal was intently focused on making his next move. That small, sweet little boy… an orphan now? Strip had to blink back a few tears as he tried to find his voice.

"Yeah." Strip said in no more than a whisper. "Yeah, that's him."

Officer Grilles followed Strip's stare and saw the kid sitting in the next room, oblivious to the tragedy. It was heartbreaking.

"Would you like me tell him?" Grilles asked, fulfilling his obligation to help. "I'm qualified to break news like this to youngsters like him."

Strip took a deep breath and shook himself. "No. I'll tell him."

Grilles respected his choice, and turned his attention back to the racer. "Their bodies are being held at Memorial Hospital. The morticians there have made them suitable to be viewed if you want to go say goodbye."

"Thank you." Strip said unevenly. He wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.

Officer Grilles slid him a business card. "Here's my contact information. Please call me if you need anything. I'll do what I can. Best of luck to you."

"Thank you." Strip repeated, taking the card and placing it on the counter to his left.

The officer bowed out of respect and turned to leave. Strip closed the door and sat in silence for a couple of moments, fighting his own emotions. He had to stay strong for Cal. If Cal saw him break down, it would make everything so much worse than it already was.

"What was that about, dear?" Lynda asked from the next room.

Strip closed his eyes for a moment, not responding. Lynda sensed something wasn't right and turned to look through the doorway. She saw her husband sitting before the closed door, not moving.

"Strip?" she asked more hesitantly.

He took a deep, ragged breath and opened his eyes. How was he going to do this?

"Cal, go to your room for a bit." Strip said in the sternest voice he could muster. "Don't come out until I tell you to."

Cal could feel the tension in the air, and knew that this wasn't a time to argue. He quietly drove up the ramp to the second level and went into his room. As soon as Strip heard the door shut, he turned to look at Lynda. She drove up to him, and saw a wet streak down his fender. She suddenly realized she'd never seen him cry before.

"Oh, no." she whispered, having put two and two together. "Please, don't tell me what I think you're goin' to."

"They're gone, Lyn." he whispered without making eye contact. "Moe and Sadie both. Gone."

There was silence. Neither one of them wanted to believe it.

"What?" she was in tears. "How? Both of them?"

Strip closed his eyes again and tried to control his breathing. It wasn't helping. Lynda had started to quietly sob, and hearing her cry made him feel even worse.

"The officer said there was a semi haulin' a tanker trailer. He went around a corner too fast and lost it on the ice. They were comin' the other direction," he explained briefly.

He drove forward towards her, and pressed his front right fender against hers in an attempt to comfort her. She tried to comfort him back, but she was shaking. They spent several long moments like that, trying to wrap their minds around the tragedy. Strip felt like he was suspended in a nightmare. It hurt, but it wasn't quite real. His brother was like a best friend to him, and even Sadie for that matter. They were all so tightly knit. How could they be gone, just like that?

The implications of the situation finally found their way through the emotions clouding Lynda's judgement. She gasped through her tears and managed to form a coherent sentence.

"What about Cal?" she asked. "He's so young and innocent - he doesn't deserve this. He's such a - "

Her sentence trailed off into more broken sobs and soft whimpers. The thought of this sweet child not having a family anymore tore her up inside.

"Are you ready to try our hand at parenting?" Strip asked, knowing it's what his late relatives wanted. "We've got to do what we can. We can't lose him to the foster system."

Lynda nodded and thought about it a little. "Yeah, yeah I am. This ain't how I pictured it, but yes."

A few more moments passed, and Strip sighed. "Their bodies are at the hospital in town. They've fixed them up enough for a viewing. I need to go tell Cal what happened, and we need to go over there. He needs to know what to expect before a funeral."

"Yeah, okay." Lynda tried to collect herself. She stopped shaking so much, but the tears were still rolling. "Do you want me to come with you? To tell him?"

"Do you think you can keep it together?" he asked her, not wanting Cal to be worried right from the start. He needed to break it to him slowly and in a way he could understand.

Lynda considered it and shook herself. "No. I'll wait out in the hallway."

They went up the ramp to the second floor. Lynda hid outside the room, parked against the hallway wall so she could listen. Strip knocked on Cal's closed door.

"Hey, Cal." he said in as straight a voice as he could. "Can I come in?"

Cal opened the door and looked up at his uncle, confused as to why he was sent to his room. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?

"Cal, come park over here next to me." Strip said as he drove over to the window overlooking the front yard.

Cal slowly crossed the room to look out the window. He was still trying to figure out everyone's odd behaviors.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked shyly.

"No, no you're not in trouble." Strip managed to briefly smile at him. "Not at all. Cal, listen. I have some bad news for you, but I want you to be strong. You think you can be strong for a little bit?"

Cal frowned, but nodded, raising himself on his little struts and making a determined face.

Strip gestured out the window. "Cal, do you know what ice is like on roads?"

"Slick and dang'rous. Daddy always said to never drive on ice!" Cal answered.

"Right. Do you know what can happen if you drive on ice?"

"You can crash and really hurt yourself." Cal answered.

"You're a smart kid." Strip complimented him. "But do you know what the worst thing that can happen is? What's the worst thing that can happen in a crash?"

Cal thought about it for a moment. Hurting yourself seemed pretty bad. But was there something worse than that? Cal remembered something, it was fuzzy in his mind, but it was there.

"Dying?" he asked, unsure if that was the word he was looking for.

"Yes. Cal, do you know what death is?"

This was a harder question for Cal. He tried to explain it the best he could.

"That's when something can't move or think or speak, and it gets all cold and has to be buried, right?" Cal remembered seeing a dead tractor in a field once, and his parents had to explain to him what happened.

"Well, yeah, that's right." It wasn't the answer Strip was looking for, but it would do. "When someone dies, their body stays behind but they can't feel or think anymore. It's like their mind is gone, and that's the end of their life. We can't do anything to bring them back, so we bury them. Does that make sense?"

Cal frowned but nodded. It was a tough concept to wrap his mind around, but he thought he got it. "They get buried and we don't see them again."

Strip felt the emotions coming back, but managed to push them away long enough to get to the point of the conversation.

"Cal, I'm telling you this because something bad happened this morning." Strip looked down at his nephew to find him staring back up at him with a worried face. "Your mom and dad were driving home on the icy roads. A big semi truck lost control because of the slick roads and crashed into them. They both died because of the crash, Cal. They're gone now. They're not coming home."

Strip watched in pain as Cal's stare drifted from him to the window. Lynda quietly entered the room and drove up on the other side of Cal to give him a little affectionate nudge. Tears welled up in Cal's eyes and he started to cry. He didn't wail or scream, but quietly shuddered and leaned against Lynda as he let the tears flow.

"You're going to live with us, okay Cal? We're going to take care of you now." Lynda told him. "We won't let anything else bad happen to you."

Cal just leaned against her harder and kept crying. They let him air his emotions for as long as he needed. Lynda looked up at Strip through her own tears. He was staring absentmindedly out the window again. He felt hollow.

They made sure the main road was cleared of ice, and after Cal seemed to run out of tears they took him to the hospital, telling him he'd have a chance to say goodbye. One of the doctors met them in the waiting room and drove with them down to the morgue. Cal stayed situated in between his aunt and uncle, scared of the big white rooms that smelled funny.

"They're there, behind that curtain." the mortician pointed to a sectioned off area of the room. "Take all the time you need."

He exited the room and left the three of them to themselves. Strip took initiative to drive up to the curtain first, but found himself unable to pull it back. Lynda pulled up beside him with Cal next to her.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked him, unsure if this was something they should let a child see.

Strip didn't have an answer. He didn't know. He had no clue what was behind that white sheet.

"I want to," Cal said in a small voice. "I want to say goodbye."

Lynda tried not to cry, but she couldn't hold the tears back. Resistance was futile.

"You're brave, Cal." Strip told him, getting choked up himself. "Remember what I told you about stayin' strong."

Cal nodded. Strip reached out and pulled the curtain back.

They looked like they were sleeping. Strip's younger brother sat there, gleaming Hemi-orange paint job shining in the light, with his eyes closed. His wife was right next to him, sleeping, emotionless. Strip and Lynda could both tell they'd just straightened their bodies out a little and put replacement sheet metal over the damage, but it was convincing enough for Cal.

His eyes widened and he drove up to them. Lynda reached out to stop him, but Strip caught her.

"Let him do what he needs to do." he whispered, staying back.

Cal drove up in front of his parent's bodies and looked at them. He kept a serious face, but he couldn't stop the tears.

"Mama." he whimpered, going up to his mother first and touching her. When she didn't respond, he nudged her again and said, "Mama, it's me, Cal!"

Of course he got no response. He started to realize what death really was. This was her body. This was the car that would tuck him in at night and sing him lullabies. But she, her mind and her spirit, was gone. There would be no more of that. She couldn't feel him or hear him. And she was very cold.

Cal started to panic. He turned to his father and nudged him with his nose like he had with his mother. He began crying so hard he could barely speak.

"Daddy, please wake up." Cal begged, breathing raggedly. "It's me, Cal. I love you."

Strip and Lynda stood by, brokenhearted. Lynda was back to sobbing again. She couldn't bear to see Cal in such a mess. He was so small, so pure and innocent. No one should ever have to experience something like this, let alone him. He didn't deserve to feel this kind of pain, especially at this age.

"Please." Cal turned back to his mother's body, but backed up a little. "I love you, too, Mama."

"Cal," Strip called to him, seeing him start to panic. "You need to say goodbye."

Cal heard his uncle's voice waver and break. He looked over at him, and suddenly felt like the world was caving in on his tiny body. His parents were gone. His aunt and uncle were upset, and he'd never seen them upset. He remembered Strip telling him he needed to be strong. Cal choked back his tears and looked at his parents again.

"Mama, Daddy, this goodbye is hard." Cal told them in a whimper. "I know you can't hear me, but I love you - very, very much. I always will."

Strip quickly drove over to close the curtain as Cal went back to cry all over Lynda. Before pushing the sheet completely closed, Strip took one last look at his brother.

 _I promise you I'll take care of him._ Strip swore to him. _If it's the last thing I do, I'll make sure he's given the best life we can give._


	2. Visitation

The sky threatened to snow, dark and overcast, giving everyone a reminder of the reason they were there. It never snowed, but the cold wind picked up. The fireplace inside the funeral home foyer was despairingly welcoming.

Lynda had dutifully taken up the mantle of being the greeter at the door. Heaven knew Strip wouldn't be able to do it. He sat in the back of the viewing room, parked against a wall, keeping Cal company. Close friends and family slowly, quietly, filed in and stood in line to see the open caskets.

Strip knew he should be driving up and talking to those he knew, his cousins and aunts and uncles. They were the only family he had left besides Lynda and Cal. But in that moment, Cal mattered more than anything. He needed constant attention, and if Strip was being honest with himself, so did he. Every time he thought he'd run out of tears to cry, Cal would start up again and unleash a ripple effect. The racer was exhausted, more than he'd been after any race.

It had been a long three days since the accident, and most of them had been filled with tears and hard explanations. Cal would cry himself to sleep every night, and sooner or later always leave his room to come join them. Every morning began the same way. Cal would wake up, experience a few moments of happiness at the arrival of a new day, and then remember everything. Each day started and ended with tears.

The small car had wormed his way into the corner, between Strip and the wall. He stared at the nearest vase of flowers. They were so pretty. They smelled so nice. They were something happy and comforting in this darkened, scary place. Every once in a while, he'd lift his eyes to the caskets at the other end of the room. Other cars he didn't recognize were looking at his parents. He'd tried to earlier, but began to panic. His uncle had dragged him away and reminded him to be strong. He was tired. He didn't want to be strong anymore.

The viewing came to a close several agonizing hours later. Strip was vaguely aware he'd spoken to several cars, though he couldn't remember who or what he'd said. It wasn't really him, anyway. His reflexes had kicked in and taken over. Years of being in the public eye and saying empty words to appease the wants of others had finally come in handy.

Cal slowly, weakly reached out and tapped him on the fender.

"Yeah, Cal?"

Strip looked down to meet the kid's wide, empty stare. There were streaks down his fenders and hood where the tears he'd cried had ruined the fresh wax job they'd given him for the occasion. Lynda had insisted they spiff themselves up and look decent. Strip realized how much he didn't care.

"Is it time to go?"

Strip looked to his right. Lynda was talking with the last of the visitation attendees as they made their way out the door. He made a mental note. After all this had blown over and things more or less returned to normal, he'd have to do something for her – something to thank her. He couldn't have done this on his own.

But it wasn't close to being over yet.

"Yeah, almost. Ready to go?"

Cal nodded and sniffed. Then he frowned and reached out in front of him. He'd brought along a small bag full of coloring utensils and paper in the case he would have needed something to keep himself preoccupied during the visitation. He hadn't touched it the whole time, instead preferring to try to hide himself against Strip's side when cars approached them. Many a friend and family member expressed their condolences to the little car, but he never once replied. In fact, he hadn't said a word since after they'd arrived.

"What you got there?" Strip asked quietly as Cal started digging through his pack.

Cal pulled out two sheets of vibrantly colored paper and laid them out in front of him.

"I heard we're s'posed to bring flowers," he said. "Couldn't find any outside. I made some instead."

Upon closer inspection, Strip could see what Cal had done. At first they looked like any other picture he'd drawn and hung on the refrigerator, colored splotches that were supposed to represent something or other. But these were different. Cal had taken the time to make these as good as he could have. One sheet had an orange, rectangular car smiling amongst a sea of multicolored flowers on green grass. The other, similar, but depicting a red car. One for each parent.

"Is this okay?" Cal asked when Strip didn't respond.

Despite having successfully kept himself contained all day, Strip felt himself about to break again. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to take a deep breath.

"It's perfect, kiddo," he managed.

Cal nodded once in resolution and put everything else but his drawings away. For the first time in over an hour, he looked at the open caskets across the room. He winced briefly, as though he were in pain, but put a determined face on and started to roll toward them, taking his gifts with him.

Strip followed behind him. He heard the door in the foyer open and close. He glanced over as Lynda turned to look at him. The last of the visitors had left. They held each other's gaze for a moment. Lynda saw Cal taking action and sent an inquisitive look. Strip gestured for her to join them.

"How're you doin'?" she asked her husband quietly as she caught up to them.

He shrugged and shook himself dejectedly. He didn't have to speak for her to know the answer wasn't good.

Cal stopped in front of the caskets and looked up at his parents, peaceful, empty, and cold. He began to tremble. They were right in front of him, but so far away.

"Can you help me put these up?" he asked Strip, pointing from the drawing to the top of the tall coffins. "Can't reach."

Strip nodded. He took each piece of paper and carefully placed them next to their respective bodies. He felt another tear slip down his fender and fall to the ground.

He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be forced to bury his only sibling in the ground this young, not when he was leaving behind a young child. They should be making plans for their first Christmas day get-together in years, a day less than a week away. They should be making plans for the next racing season and discussing new strategies.

They should be happy.

"Thanks," Cal said gratefully as his uncle finished.

Lynda saw the hollow expression behind her love's eyes. She reached out and gently wiped some of the moisture from his fender. For a moment, he didn't act as though he noticed, but he then proceeded to lean against her and let out a ragged breath. She gently pushed back on him in a loving nudge and watched as he closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"You did well today," she whispered to him.

"Thanks, Lyn," he responded in a ragged voice. "Thanks for handlin' everythin'."

"That's what I'm here for," she said.

Silence fell over them for a moment. It was the last moment they'd have alone with their parted loved ones. They knew that. Strip knew he should appreciate it more, but he just wanted to leave. He felt weak.

Cal began to sniffle again. Lynda looked past her husband and saw the telltale signs of another emotional storm coming.

"Come on, let's go home."


	3. Funeral

The snow came the next day. It started as the preacher ended his sermon, and by the time the procession to the graveyard started, a thin layer had frosted the plants outside. Strip had never much cared for driving in snow before, but now he hated it. He hated everything about it.

It wasn't a long drive. It was hardly a mile from the funeral home to the graveyard where his parents were buried. Moe and Sadie's headstone was already in place, right next to theirs. This was it. This was the last time they'd all be together, if one could call it that.

The road seemed barren as they reached the cemetery. Not a single car passed them in the opposing lane the entire way. Another winter weather warning had been issued, effective two hours earlier. No one should be on the roads. Twinkling holiday lights and yard decorations seemed to mock them as they drove between two tall cast iron gates.

"We'll need to make it quick," one of the coordinators said as they arrived. "Supposed to change into freezing rain any minute now."

Lynda nodded and waved them off to do their job. Together, she, Cal, and Strip led the shivering parade in following the hearse hauler to the open grave.

They kept their word. The ceremony was short. Too short. Despite the billowing snow and rapid drop in temperature, it should have been longer, Strip thought as they lowered the two coffins into the ground, perfectly squared against each other. He had so much he wanted to say, things he hadn't thought to say earlier – things he _couldn't_ say earlier. That was his brother, a best friend. Throughout his entire life, the only other car that meant more to him than Maurice had been Lynda.

He looked over at her. She was fixated on the crane lowering the casket in the ground as someone droned on in the background. They couldn't hear what was being said. She blinked a couple of times. He was unsure if she was crying or simply cleaning her windshield of accumulated snow. Maybe both. He was doing both.

And so was Cal. The child sat parked between them, shuddering. He was freezing cold, even with Lynda blocking the wind as she were. He leaned against her for warmth, but she was cold, too. She reached out and wiped some of the snow off his hood. He _was_ cold.

It was time. Strip moved forward to throw the ceremonious first shovel of dirt in the grave, being the closest living family member apart from Cal. He watched the dirt fall with a dull _thud_ , marring the snow crusted, but otherwise unflawed coffin lids. That hollow, aching space in his soul intensified.

 _I'm gonna miss you, Moe. You and Sadie both. Don't worry about Cal. I'll take care of him._

Lynda went next, bringing Cal with her. She explained to him what to do, and demonstrated. He hesitated, staring down in the pit.

"Come now, Cal," she coaxed him. "I know this is hard. But you're a big boy now, okay? This is something you should do for them."

Cal did as he was told. He didn't understand it. What did dirt have to do with anything? He watched it fall onto the black boxes below. His parents were in those boxes, he knew. This would be the last time he ever saw those boxes. In a rush, everything suddenly became lucid. He thought he'd understood what death was. He hadn't.

But he did in that moment.

Lynda ushered him back from the grave to where he'd been parked moments earlier. There was a perfect, Cal-shaped place on the dying grass next to Strip where the snow had not had a chance to amass. Cal came to a halt in his tracks and began hyperventilating. The backhoe was moving in and scooping up the mound of dirt to begin filling in the grave. Cal lost it when the first bucket full of muddied earth fell.

"No!" He tried to yell. It came out in a hoarse cry. He tried to lunge forward, but Strip reflexively reached out and held him back.

"It's okay, Cal," he said to him, knowing full well it couldn't be further from okay.

"No!" Cal sobbed, fighting to get past his uncle's tire.

It was a mess. Cal kicked up dirt all over himself and Strip and Lynda, trying to push himself forward. The snow fell harder, now stinging them all with tiny ice pellets. The few members of their extended family and a couple close friends watched on in sorrow. No one hurt worse than this small child did. He didn't deserve this.

"Please," he begged, tears streaming from his eyes, melting the precipitation that clung to his fenders. "Make it stop, uncle Strip, make it stop!"

With one last shove, Cal gave up, falling against Strip's side and weeping as the backhoe continued its work.

"Please."

Lynda moved closer to Cal, letting herself shed a few tears. This wasn't a place to hide how one felt. Through the snowstorm, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She nudged Cal and started her engine, hoping the warmth would comfort him somehow. It was futile, but she had to try.

It didn't take long to cover the grave. One by one, everyone in attendance left a single rose on the doublewide heap of dirt and left. Some said a few kind words, others left quietly. Soon, it was just the three of them.

"Let's put our flowers up there, too, okay Cal?" Lynda said patiently. "We need to go home before the roads get bad again."

Cal shivered, blinking away the tears that were trying to freeze to his windshield. The roads were getting bad again? He looked between his aunt and uncle. The roads were bad. Slick roads meant wrecks. Wrecks meant death. He couldn't lose them, too.

Cal moved forward without any further coercion and placed his flower at the head of the grave. He saw the writing on the headstone. He couldn't read the big words, but he recognized their names. In writing, they'd always be here.

Strip followed and placed his flower next to Cal's. Lynda drove around the other side and did likewise. They gave him a few more seconds to say goodbye. Nearby, a gust of wind howled over the hilltop and into the forest beyond. A loud snap followed by a low droning preceded the sharp crash of a tree as it fell in the woods beyond. Cal jumped at the noise.

"Can we go home now?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, let's go," Strip said. "But be careful now, you hear? It might be slick."

Cal nodded once and turned to go. Together, they slowly and carefully drove back to the warm, dry house that awaited them, leaving the freezing grave in peace.


	4. Adoption

"That was more difficult than it shoulda been," Lynda said with an exhausted sigh.

She set a stack of official papers down on the kitchen table, fresh from the local court house. Those papers had taken the better part of two weeks to get ahold of, despite clear instructions left behind in the deceased's will. Court proceedings of any sort were too long and arduous, and in this case, seemingly pointless.

"It probably would've gone quicker had the holidays not got in the way," Strip agreed, looking at the papers again. He must have gone through them a dozen times. "I'm happy it's over with."

Silence passed between them as they absently stared at the adoption papers. 'Happy' wasn't exactly an emotion either of them had felt over the past month, and the use of the word in a phrase seemed almost foreign. Yet, the absence of a single stressor amid the chaos of the adoption process offered slight relief.

"What do we do now?" he asked quietly, shifting his focus out of the present and into the future.

A world of unknown clouded his foresight. Child rearing? He'd kept the thought at bay for weeks now, but deep down he knew he didn't have the slightest clue how to be a parent. Keeping a child entertained for a few days at a time and being permanently responsible for their development were two wildly different things.

Lynda met his gaze and saw the uncertainty within. While she felt more confident about their abilities to be the adults Cal needed in his life, she recognized and empathized with her husband's unease. It was the same insecurity that kept them from having their own children at that stage in their life. They'd failed to figure out a foolproof way to give a child the experiences, home, and attention it would need to mature while they lived eight months of the year on the road.

"The best we can."

She didn't have a plan, and they both knew it. Perhaps trial by fire was the only acceptable way to become a decent parental figure. They'd have to learn to accept that failure and learning by mistake were going to be a critical part of this journey, whether they liked it or not.

Strip sighed and reached out to take the papers from the table. "I'm gonna go put these away. Then we'll go pick up Cal from your sister's and take him to go get his stuff. Kid hasn't seen his own house in a month."

"Okay," Lynda nodded in agreement. She watched him as he absently began to drive away. She reached out to stop him before he got out of the room.

"Hey, look," she said softly. "I know you're not lookin' forward to this, what, goin' through all their stuff and whatnot. I just want to let you know that you don't have to right now. We can always go back later. It's not goin' anywhere. We'll just let Cal take what he wants and come back, okay?"

He nodded and looked down at the papers again. "I know. I'll be fine. It'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Strip knew he was lying to himself. He'd been lying to himself for weeks. It was a habit at that point. He knew the moment the three of them laid tire on his late brother's property that he didn't want to be there.

The white house glared at them with darkened windows as a cold wind swept down from overcast skies. January in the mountains had never been particularly welcoming, but it seemed more threatening than usual, as though it were trying to push them away. Strip missed the warmth of the sun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen it.

He unlocked the front door and entered, with Cal right on his tail. Save the chill of the wind, it was every bit as cold inside as it was outside.

"Alright, Cal," Lynda said in her default, kind tone. "You know what you want to get? What you want to take back?"

Cal looked around his house. It was so dark and silent. Somewhere across his living room, he could hear a shutter banging against the outside wall. It was just like when the power had gone out after a big storm. He masked his fear of the creepy dark and went to go flip a light switch. Nothing happened. His confidence wavered.

"They must've cut the power already," Strip observed. "Don't worry about it, Cal. That's what headlights are for, right?"

"Right," Cal said as he flipped his lights on. "I know what I want. But I don't know if I can carry it all."

"That's why we're here to help," Lynda told him. "I don't have this roof rack for nothin'."

Cal pulled her towards his room. He seemed ever so slightly spooked by the quiet surroundings. His gaze flitted from the empty kitchen to the darkened hallway. He jumped ever so slightly at the sound of the loose shutter hitting the siding in the wind. Despite all this, he didn't complain.

Strip felt selfish as he realized he'd much rather deal with an on-edge, scared Cal than a blubbering, weeping Cal. He was tired. He couldn't afford to be tired, not when his nephew was counting on him. Counting on him for what? What were the expectations? What was he supposed to do?

Lynda shot him a glance as he hesitated to follow her and Cal into the kid's old bedroom. "You comin'?"

"Yeah, yeah. Here in a minute. I'll be along," he said, looking around the foyer. "I just wanna look around a bit."

"Alright."

She knew he spoke idle words. He always did when he was distracted. She really couldn't hold it against him or call him out on it this time, and so she continued to Cal's room to help him sort through toys and keepsakes.

Strip sat rooted to the floor. What was it he wanted to look for? He and his brother never had family heirlooms. They'd grown up with next to nothing. Everything they were, everything they owned they'd earned through hard work and dedication. Even when their parents had passed on, they hadn't inherited much. Those weren't the sort of things he was looking for, he knew that much.

He rolled off in the opposite direction Lynda and Cal had gone. Every inch away from that front door felt like a mile as he entered into what had once been, and still felt like, a home. It hadn't been touched since the wreck, and everything was left scattered as though they'd just gone on a quick trip into town. There were still dishes in the kitchen sink. The TV remote still lay within reach of Moe's favorite spot in the living room. Their bed was left unmade in the master bedroom.

Strip paused as he began to enter the bedroom. It was such a private space he didn't feel appropriate entering without permission. But what permission did he need? This property belonged to no one. This was no one's home. Eventually, as soon as the rest of the paperwork cycled through the system, this would all be Cal's, but currently it was just an empty house.

An empty house full of rich and vivid memories. Strip pushed his hesitation to the side and tried to ignore the growing pain that had once started to ebb. To say that he missed his brother was an understatement. More often than not while growing up they'd only had each other while their parents were out working to provide for them. Being the oldest, Strip had a sense of responsibility engrained in him from a very young age. That responsibility lent itself to protectiveness, a trait that never quite left even after they'd come to adulthood and became self-sustaining.

Sadie had at some point put a photo collage together, framed it, and nailed to the wall across from the bed. Strip gravitated toward it, toward the familiar faces that peered back at him from behind the thin plate of glass. Some of the pictures were faded, but every one of them brought back a colorful, clear memory.

The day of their wedding – Moe waiting by the altar, trying not to cry as Sadie was driven down the aisle by her father. That had been the only day that anyone apart from Strip had ever seen the Road Runner cry. It had been a source of mockery between them for years after that, all in good fun.

Next, Strip's own Piston Cup win – his first. There, he himself sat in the middle of Victory Lane, covered in the remnants of celebration next to his trophy with Lynda on one side and Moe and Sadie on the other. That year Moe had been Strip's crew chief. The all too likely duo was often thought to be the source of their sudden success, and continued to work together for several more years.

But then came Cal. An assortment of family photos later, Cal was introduced to the family. Strip remembered that day more clearly than his first championship. It had been quiet, not chaotic. Quiet and full of love. He and Lynda had been the first allowed to see little Cal the day they brought him home from the manufacturer. Strip had been the one to take this picture, just a simple, familiar snapshot of two tired, happy parents and a pint-sized racecar.

Strip held on to that memory and felt it over and over again. He looked to the photo, at his brother smiling so gently down at the child. They'd been such a perfect family. How could this have happened?

"What am I supposed to do?" Strip asked the picture quietly.

He could never hope to replicate the bond Cal had with his parents. He didn't think it appropriate that he should. But how else was he supposed to fill the tire treads his brother left behind? How was he to give Cal the best life possible without being perfect?

The picture didn't respond. Strip looked down at the floor and exhaled pent up breath. What he wouldn't give to have another five minutes with his brother. Moe would give him answers, and if not answers then at least sound advice.

Now he'd have to figure it out on his own. Strip began to back out of the door to the bedroom when Cal zipped in right past him.

"'Scuse me," Cal said as he made a beeline for the unkempt bed.

"Done already?" Strip asked, pulling himself from his pondering. "That was fast."

"Almost," Cal answered. "One more thing right now."

Strip let Cal have his space and backed out into the hallway. Lynda greeted him, burdened with two large boxes packed full of the contents from Cal's bedroom.

"Need me to carry something?" he asked.

"How?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm. She shifted under the weight of the boxes. "You want me to balance one of these on your wing?"

He smiled at her blunt sense of humor. She returned the sentiment and winked at him. From her perspective, the trip was going off without a hitch. Cal was doing fine keeping his composure, and that was more than even she had hoped for. Perhaps he was coping better than they realized.

"I'm fine," she waved him off more seriously. "He really didn't have that much to pack up. It's not heavy."

He nodded and turned to look at Cal. The young racecar had grabbed the one thing he'd wanted and exited the room without so much as looking around at anything else. He drove out of the doorway dragging a worn pillow.

"Is that all you wanted?" Lynda asked him.

"This is Mama's fav'rite pillow," Cal explained, inhaling deeply. "It smells good."

Cal took the opportunity to squeeze the pillow against himself and snuggle it. There was a pause where neither Strip nor Lynda could think of anything suitable to say. In the absence of conversation, Cal's composure faltered into something more sensitive as he cuddled against the down-filled fabric.

"Time to go," Strip said, wanting to keep Cal distracted. "We can come back if you think of somethin' you forgot, alright Cal?"

Cal sniffed once and nodded. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Strip and Lynda shared another glance. That was something no child should ever have to thank anyone for. How long would it be before Cal considered their home his own? How long before that was considered normal?

" _One lap at a time. Just take it one lap at a time. Leave the rest to me."_

Strip nearly jumped as another lucid memory came screaming to the forefront of his mind. Moe's advice going into that race that had won Team Dinoco their first championship. One lap at a time. One… one lap at a time. Was that an answer? Strip dissociated for a split second as he tried to process what had just happened. Was he losing his mind? Mediating with the dead?

 _No, stupid, that's your common sense kicking in. You don't have to have all this figured out right now. It'll come to you. Things'll happen as they should if you just do your part._

Strip looked down at Cal still hugging the pillow and smiled.

"Of course, kiddo. Let's go home."


	5. Remnants

Things were slowly getting better. There were good days, days where somber silence couldn't be found and the Weathers household felt at ease. These were the days where Strip felt apt for the task. Cal was happy. Cal was safe.

But with the day also comes the night. It would happen in a blink of an eye, in a manner most unpredictable. A day, a good day, would pass and everyone would go to bed worn out and happy. Content, Strip and Lynda would fall asleep at each other's side only to be interrupted within minutes by a withering, whimpering Cal, coming to squeeze in between them, dragging what had become his most favorite pillow.

That day was one of those days. The New Year had greeted them with little to no snowfall after the messy and miserable December. For a while, it seemed the weather would behave, but spring was still too far away. Another snowstorm had blanketed the mountains with a soft white cushion of cold the night before.

Early that morning, just as the sky turned from dark gray to a lighter blue, Cal noticed something was off. Glancing out his bedroom window, the sparkling white frost that blanketed the trees outside sent fear through him. Snow meant ice. Ice meant danger. He was in a room by himself. Was his family still inside? Still safe?

Strip and Lynda awoke to their bedroom door being rammed open with enough force to scratch the wall as it came to a halt. Lynda snapped awake, prepared to fight whatever intruder had so rudely infringed upon their morning. A heavy sleeper, Strip merely opened his eyes in confusion.

Lynda relaxed as she saw her quivering nephew parked just inside the doorway. Cal looked between the two adult cars several times, as though he had to repeatedly convince himself they were with him. After a few stunned seconds, he relaxed and fell into quiet tears, snuggling up between them.

"What's wrong, Cal?" Lynda asked, her concern overshadowing her agitation.

"Snow," he answered quietly enough. "Outside."

Groggily, Strip reached to his left and pulled a curtain back to peer outside. The glistening white snow was blinding, even in the early morning light.

"It's fine, Cal," he grumbled. "Snow ain't dangerous as long as you're not on the roads."

Cal wasn't convinced, and as such, they proceeded to spend a majority of the day teaching him the perks of a snow day. Snow made it fun to play in the yard. You could build neat things out of packed snow. Hot chocolate tasted exceptionally good when it was cold and snowy. By that evening, Cal had grown to appreciate the white fluff. He began to understand that circumstances affected experiences. They weren't driving on any roads, and as such, this little bit of snow was harmless.

However, confidence sometimes wanes with the daylight in the evening. Cal was exhausted from the day as he lay parked in his room. He thought about the good things that happened, all he'd learned, and how he really wanted to do it all again the next day. He wanted to fall asleep like that, happy and content. Across the hall, his aunt and uncle were already asleep. He knew as they'd stopped talking several minutes ago.

Cal hugged his pillow close and looked out the window. As the last of the light faded from the sky, the snow in the treetops stopped sparkling and in that same moment lost its allure. It turned from a cool wonderland into a bitter, looming, ghostly hodgepodge of shapes moving silently in the breeze.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the distant howl of the wind as it passed through the mountaintops. It didn't help. He could feel the whitewashed branches outside watching him, taunting him, and reminding him of the inherent, uncontrollable dangers of the weather.

Strip hadn't yet fallen asleep when Cal nudged their door open and quietly entered the room. His mind was too busy. The racing season was to start up again next month – how was he to balance Cal's needs with his career? What if he wasn't there for Cal when the kid slipped into an episode? What if that happened in public? He knew Lynda was perfectly capable of handling Cal on her own, but he didn't want to force that on her. Cal was his responsibility too. He'd made a promise. He was going to do the best he could. How could he be the best parental figure he could be and not forsake his career? What if he had to choose? What if?

"Can I sleep with you?" Cal whispered, seeing Strip still awake.

The racecar moved to the side to open up enough space between him and his wife for the child. Cal silently squeezed in between them, dragging his pillow with him and snuggling up with it. Strip waited patiently as his nephew squirmed around and got comfortable. Cal was getting better about sleeping on his own. He was down to spending only a night or so a week in the same room as them. It was an improvement, but those nights were still the worst. It wasn't that Cal was there, it was the grief he brought with him.

Strip watched as Cal fell asleep within moments. He closed his eyes and tried to follow suit. It didn't work. It never did.

The same chain of events happened, almost routinely. Cal was a fidgety sleeper. Even unconscious, he'd squirm and try to find a more comfortable position every few minutes. Every time Strip would find himself on the verge of peaceful oblivion, Cal would move and jolt him awake. The minutes turned to hours. Though patient by nature, sleep deprivation never sat well with the racer. He found himself growing more and more agitated. He thought about telling Cal to go back to his room.

He immediately reprimanded himself. Who was he to be so selfish? Cal had done nothing wrong. Strip looked around the room. It was almost midnight. Lynda still slept peacefully on the other side of the bed. Cal squirmed yet again and tucked his right front tire under him, repositioning the pillow he lay on. Outside, the wind blew harder, knocking the snow from the trees to the ground. Cal wiggled again.

That was it. Strip couldn't take it anymore. He quietly rolled forward off their bed and out the door, still wide open from Cal's entrance. The couch would have to do.

He begged for sleep to take him as he settled in on the worn cushions. It wasn't as comfortable as he would have liked, but at least all was still and silent. All except for the wind outside. His mind started churning again.

What was he so worried about? Frustrated with himself, Strip took the time to be introspective. Perhaps if he faced what was bothering him it would leave him alone.

Was it Cal? What about Cal? No, it definitely wasn't him. Taking care of someone too young to care for themselves was a challenge, sure, but it wasn't eating away at him. He didn't feel he was doing a bad job. Even with all the ups and downs, the new family dynamic worked. The lows were every bit to be expected alongside the highs.

What else could it be? The imposing racing season? Maybe, he had his concerns. The world knew what had happened at this point. Not only was Team Dinoco out of a crew chief, but that crew chief had always been so much more to the team, to Strip. There would be struggles getting acquainted with a new one, and likely a lot of tough lessons and growing pains. But that didn't bother him so much. It was too obvious to the racing community. They knew what to expect from him. He'd been avoiding the media at every turn, refusing to offer any comments or publicize his anguish. That wasn't for others to know.

So what was left? He thought some more, looking in places he hadn't considered before. Cal wasn't a problem in the least. The race team would continue after some adjustments.

Strip knew what the problem was. Failure. He'd always been terrified of failure, even when it was good for him. His brother had always been there to catch him and set him straight when he fell short of expectations. He'd always been there to put things into perspective and figure out the lesson being taught. He'd always been there.

And now he was gone.

The Weathers family had never been large. For many years, it had just been Strip and Lynda, Moe and Sadie. That was it. As brothers, they'd always been close because growing up they'd been all the other really had. That sort of bond can only be broken in one way, a permanent way.

All that was left of that bond was Cal. Strip felt vulnerable. There was no other voice of reason, someone telling him what and what not to do. Moe wasn't going to drive in that front door and hand Strip a list of all the things he needed to work on to be a good guardian. There weren't going to be any late night discussions about how to correct past mistakes. There wasn't going to be anything. Just the silence and the howling wind. Nothingness.

 _That's not true_ , he told himself. He wasn't completely alone. He still had Lynda. She knew a thing or two about kids. She'd always been good with them, and always seemed to know what to do in a pinch. That counted for something, right? Surely between the two of them, they'd manage to avoid significant failures. So far, so good, right?

He looked around the living room. It was empty, as it should be. Lynda and Cal likely hadn't moved from their bedroom. He probably hadn't been gone long enough for Cal to wiggle more than two or three more times. They were all he had left. He needed them as much as they relied on him.

Strip would always miss his brother, the younger car's outspoken wisdom and all. There would always be something missing, and some days it would hurt more than others. Cal felt it too. In that sense they understood each other, whether they knew it or not. Perhaps Cal even had it worse, who was he to judge? That aside, it was time for action, even if that action was nothing more than pure will refusing to let the kid down – refusing to let himself down.

He returned to the bedroom. The next day would come. It would be full of more opportunities, opportunities he could make something of.


	6. Racing

"He's gotta grow up like any other kid. We can't keep that from him, you know that. You can't let your career take priority here."

Strip looked down at the floor and frowned. He racked his mind for any sort of counterargument that would convince Lynda otherwise. The problem was that she was right. He knew that she was right, and he knew that he agreed with her. Why was he trying to prove himself otherwise?

"Look at it like this," Lynda continued, voice soft from exhaustion. The conversation-turned-argument had worn them both out. "He doesn't start school until September. We don't have to change anythin' until then. That's most of the season. We have time to figure it out."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "It's not that – I'm not puttin' racin' over his needs, Lyn. I just feel like I need to keep an eye on him."

"I'm capable of watchin' him, too, y'know."

"Yeah, but –"

"You don't need me there at the track every week, either."

Strip looked up at his wife. The thought of her being forced to stay home and care for Cal as the kid began school bothered him. He didn't know why. He couldn't place it. It wasn't the fact that they'd be separated for longer than he'd like. It wasn't the inconvenience of the situation. Inconvenience had long been forgotten.

"I think it's more of a want than a need," he admitted, forcing himself to relax. "I guess I just don't like bein' faced with a problem I can't figure out."

Lynda smiled at his honesty. How many years had they been together? All those years and she had attended nearly every race with him, been there for every win, every loss, every wreck.

"Well, maybe the first thing is to stop lookin' at it like it's a problem," she offered, looking up at the clock on the wall.

Strip followed her gaze and nodded. It was almost seven. The hauler was due to arrive at any moment to take him to Daytona. Florida International Speedway awaited Team Dinoco, promising to dispel any and all February chills with its beachside warmth.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

"Yeah, you're right," he conceded. "It's not a problem. Just a change."

* * *

He nosed open the door to Cal's bedroom. The bright blue walls seemed exceptionally optimistic as the fading sunset illuminated them through the unshuttered window. All Cal's belongings were tidily put away, a sight Strip found odd. Kids' rooms weren't supposed to be clean, were they? A single suitcase laid packed in the middle of the floor.

Cal lay on his perfectly made bed as though he had been sent to his room to await punishment. The young car caught his uncle's gaze before quickly looking away, out the window. Strip looked at him in confusion.

"Hey, buddy, is everythin' alright?" he asked.

Cal refused to make eye contact as his uncle rolled closer. His eyelids drooped. He'd been crying.

"Cal?" Strip prodded again.

Cal sniffed. "Are you and Aunt Lyn done fighting now?"

"What?"

"You were yelling at each other."

Strip blinked. It hadn't occurred to him that Cal may have heard their conversation. Fighting? Is that what he thought?

"It's not what you think, kiddo," he explained in a quiet voice. "We were just tryin' to figure somethin' out. Sometimes you gotta argue to figure things out."

"So you still love each other?"

Strip laughed a little bit and reached out to give the smaller car a bump on the fender. "Of course. And don't you ever think differently."

Cal sniffed again and looked up. "Okay."

"Now, I came up here to check on you before I leave. You excited for Florida?"

Cal pointed to his suitcase, a simple carry on with a Dinoco sticker on it that Tex had given him a few weeks ago. A small smile crossed his face.

"Yeah! I've only been to Charlotte. Florida is bigger, right?"

"A lot bigger, kiddo. Remember what I told you? The rules?"

"Always stay close to Aunt Lynda, and don't talk to strangers."

"That's right. You do that, you'll be okay."

Outside, the rumble of a diesel engine faded in. Cal heard it and perked up.

"Gotta go now, Cal. I'll see you down at the track, okay?"

* * *

Florida was everything it had ever been. Warm breeze, sunny day, occupied by overwhelming crowds eager to get the season started. It should have been perfect.

The racers made their way to pit row as Strip stayed behind for a moment and had a few last words with his sponsor.

"All I'm asking is that you give this guy a chance," Tex said. "I checked him out, he's fit for the job. You worked well together yesterday. Qualified for that pole like I knew you would."

"I don't doubt your judgement, Tex, I just wish you'd cleared it with me first," Strip responded, looking over at the occupied crew chief stand with obvious distaste. "Racin's different from qualifyin'."

"I know no one's ever gonna replace your brother," Tex empathized in a gentle manner. "I don't want this to be seen as a replacement. Just fillin' a position. We gotta have a complete team."

Strip didn't remember reading that anywhere in the rulebooks, but he didn't argue. This new crew chief wasn't a bad person. In fact, Roger was a kindhearted individual and more than qualified to do the job, Strip gathered that much just by talking with him. Roger Wheeler knew the ins and outs of racing as well as the next guy, but there was something about him Strip didn't necessarily agree with. He was strictly technical, strictly professional. He was there to help the team win the race, and that was the whole of it.

But that wasn't what Strip wanted. He felt his temper rise as he departed the Dinoco tent enroute to the pits to line up for the starting ceremonies. He saw that bright blue truck on top of the pit stand and for the first time in several weeks, the freshly healed scar of his brother's loss reopened into a raw wound. He thought he'd been coping well, learning to move on, but he wasn't ready to race without his lifelong best friend. He didn't know if he'd ever be.

None of the other racers said anything to him as he drove past them to take the pole position. They stared as they prepared themselves, but that was all. They knew what had happened. The whole community knew. Everyone knew and no one said a word. December was in the past. All the condolences the family received over the holidays had but vanished.

 _Funny how fast the world moves on without you,_ Strip thought begrudgingly to himself. Moe deserved better than this. _He_ deserved better than this. There was a little kid up in the VIP suites somewhere that deserved better.

Strip didn't look over at his team as he came to a rest behind the pace car. He didn't glance at that stand. That position wasn't meant to be filled, however carefully it had been. It wasn't for sale.

"Ready to roll?" the unfamiliar voice asked over the radio.

Strip scowled as the command for the racers to start their engines echoed through the arena. He started his again with an angry roar and let it idle high. That was all the response he needed.

"When you get out there, just let me know what I can do for you," the voice interrupted again.

Strip took a few deep, steady breaths before replying. He didn't want to talk to this guy.

"Just let me do my job."

* * *

Florida International is a name synonymous with wrecks and action. Big wrecks, little wrecks, solo wrecks that were really more like uncontrolled skid competitions through the grassy infield. The Florida 500 had it all.

Despite the tension over the radio, it wasn't anyone's fault on the team. Coming three-wide out of turn four, someone got into someone else who sent yet another into a wall. The pile up was unavoidable for anyone not racing the inside line.

Strip was on the outside, trying to make a pass. A sideways racecar and the outside wall had other plans.

"You alright, King?"

Strip opened his eyes and looked toward the pits as the chaos around him came to a halt. What? What had his crew chief called him? They were supposed to work together and yet they weren't even on personable terms. Moe never used that title.

He wasn't sure what burned worse, his bent axle and crumpled panels, or the aching loss percolating through his soul.

"I'm fine," he mumbled through clenched teeth.

He wasn't.

* * *

Cal couldn't have made that noise again if he'd wanted to. It was so sharp, so abrupt it made Lynda jump.

She tore her gaze away from the smoking scene below to assess her nephew. He stared unblinkingly at the commotion on the track, shaking as though he were freezing cold.

"Cal?" she voiced softly. "Cal, hun, are you okay?"

Cal jerked at the sound of her voice and came back to reality. Tears instantly welled up in his eyes as he lifted them to look at her. He was a ticking time bomb of hysterics.

Lynda quickly pulled him aside so that he wouldn't make a scene in front of the other Dinoco VIPs. In the back corner of the suite, she went into immediate crisis mitigation mode.

"Shh, Cal, it's okay," she told him quietly. "Everythin's okay. No reason to cry."

Cal shuddered and fell into silent sobs as he leaned against her side. She reciprocated the gesture in kind and wiped away the tears running down his fender, thankful he wasn't a vocal crier.

"It's okay, baby, it's fine," she soothed him.

Cal looked back toward the window as the announcer started listing off the names of the racers involved in the crash. The echoes of the loudspeakers made it difficult to understand, but he was sure he heard "Weathers" and "out of the race" in the same sentence.

"Crash," Cal said weakly.

"Yeah, that happens sometimes," Lynda told him. "Wreckin' is a part of racin', you know."

"But crashes kill," Cal whispered.

Lynda looked up and glanced around the room to find several of the other patrons watching them in their rearview mirrors. She scowled at them. This was none of their business. What she'd give for a private place all to herself and Cal.

"Not all of 'em do, honey," she explained. "Only the really bad ones. A lot of 'em only end up with someone getting' hurt. Strip's gonna be fine. He's been through this before. Just bad luck is all. You understand?"

Cal sniffled and blinked a few times in rapid succession to clear his vision. He nodded, but his face said otherwise.

Lynda led him back to the window to show him.

"See? They're pulling him out with a tow truck," Lynda pointed out to Cal, who leaned forward to peer over the ledge. "See? He's looking around. He's fine. A little beat up, but he'll be okay."

"They can fix him?"

"Of course. That's what the mechanics and doctors are here for. There's nothing to worry about. He just won't be able to finish the race, that's all."

Cal sank in his suspension as he settled in to watch the cleanup crew in action. His rate of breathing slowed to normal once again.

Lynda sighed in relief. Crisis averted.

"Has anyone ever died at a race?" Cal asked out of the blue.

Lynda could feel the stares of the other cars in the booth as they bore into her. She tried her best to ignore it. In her younger years she wouldn't have hesitated to give them a piece of her mind.

"It's happened before," she answered. "Those are the really bad ones."

"How do you know if it's bad?"

"You just know, Cal. You just know."

He frowned. He didn't understand.

Lynda looked down at him again. She could feel the worry radiating from his pint-sized frame.

"Do you wanna go see him? We can go down there now if you want. We'll probably miss the end of the race but – "

"Yes. Let's go now."

* * *

Strip sat on the lift with his eyes closed as the infield mechanics finished installing a new front axle. His aching panels served as a dull reminder of everything that had gone wrong in the last several months. The temptation of letting his mind slip into a state of feeling sorry for himself was far too tempting.

The medics finished up and lowered the lift. One of them administered a moderate pain reliever.

"That'll get you through the rest of the day."

He heard them drive away to leave him in peace for a few moments. It should have been a time of relaxation, but stress always finds a way to ruin such things. He knew Tex or Roger or maybe even both of them would be driving through that door any second to check on him. He didn't feel like talking to either of them – not even Tex.

Not a moment too soon the door swung open. He braced himself.

"Hey."

Strip relaxed in sweet relief. That was the voice he didn't know he wanted to hear. He opened his eyes and glanced to the left.

"Hey, Lyn."

"Roughed you up pretty good this time, didn't they?"

He looked down at his crinkled hood. "I guess."

Lynda nodded and looked down beside her. Cal inched forward, looking at his uncle as though he were scared of what he might find.

"We would've been in here earlier, but they said they needed to finish repairs first. Cal was chompin' at the bit to get in here and see you. Had to keep him occupied."

"Hey, kid," Strip acknowledged his nephew. "What'd you think of Florida?"

Cal drove up to the tattered racecar in order to get a better look.

"It's big," he answered thoughtlessly, taking in the damage. It didn't look comfortable. "You okay?"

Strip smiled down at him. "I'm fine, Cal. This is just part of it."

"Mmm," Cal seemed to contemplate it.

"Just wasn't your day, was it?" Lynda asked.

"No," he answered dejectedly. "I think most of that's on me, though."

"Don't like the new guy?"

"He's fine, he's not a bad car. I just wasn't ready for someone new."

Lynda nodded. She expected as much. It wasn't the wreck that hurt.

"I made you something," Cal spoke up.

Strip looked down at his side. Cal was pulling something out of his travel pack where he kept his toys and coloring materials for time away from home.

Lynda smiled. When the nurse at the clinic entrance offered Cal some pieces of paper and crayons to keep busy with, she hadn't expected anything out of the ordinary to come from Cal's toddler-appropriate drawing skills. And perhaps from an artistic standpoint, it wasn't special, but to them, it was a drastic improvement, something truly valuable.

"Whatcha got there?" Strip asked.

"I drew this for you," Cal said, holding a piece of paper up. "It's our family."

Strip didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't what Cal showed him. It was simple, just the three of them at what appeared to be a race track – probably Florida International, judging from the blue blob that consumed the top half of the paper.

What stood out wasn't Cal's artistic talent or lack thereof, but the realization that this was the first picture he'd drawn since his parents' death that didn't include them or wasn't exclusively for them.

 _It's our family._

"That's great, Cal," Strip whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion. "You did a good job with this."

He blamed it on the pain medications. He couldn't be having a breakdown at a racetrack of all places. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat as Cal leaned against his side.

"I love you, Uncle Strip," Cal said quietly. "Hope you feel better soon."

Strip glanced over at Lynda to find she was fighting back tears as well. All three of them were driving on a knife's edge of uncontrollable, conflicting feelings.

And not a one of them cared to fight it.

"Love you too, kiddo."


End file.
